nepenthe
by vrea
Summary: "It was..." he takes a deep, shuddering breath. "It was you, this time."


because hajime couldn't have solved all those murder cases without suffering torment on his poor, intelligent soul.

* * *

_She's lying still in a pool of her own blood, beautiful eyes shut fully. Judging by the peaceful expression on her face, anyone would think that she's just sleeping._

_He knows better._

_His blood runs cold and _fuck_, if he doesn't want to just pretend it's not real. He sprints, the scenery around him blurring as his eyes begin to sting._

_"Miyuki!" Her name comes out in a hoarse roar._

_His hands are trembling as he kneels in that crimsom red pool–he has to remind himself that it's her blood he's kneeling in, her blood._

_He's shaking and shaking and shaking her and _oh god, Miyuki, please wake up.

_He watches desperately for the rise and fall of her chest but she just lies there, pale and unmoving and so serene but– _no, nononono why aren't you waking up–

He sits upright, cold sweat sliding from his forehead as he gasps for breath. His heart pounds furiosly against his ribcage, threatening to burst.

"_Miyuki_," he breathes, and her bloodied form is the first thing that comes to mind as he scrambles to pat the sheets around him and _find her_, to make sure that she's _okay_, that–

"Hajime-chan?" Her soft voice breaks his sense of panic for a moment as he whips his head to the side.

His brown eyes meet hers and all his anxiety washes away to be replaced by relief. Relief that she's alive, that she's breathing, that she's unharmed, rubbing her tired eyes as she props herself up on her pillow.

He shifts and crushes her close to his chest, dilated pupils slowly but surely going back to normal as he inhales the familiar scent of _her_–freshly-baked cookies and bread just out of the oven.

She doesn't hesitate to wrap her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder as she relaxes into his hold.

"Bad dream?" She asks, languidly rubbing soothing patterns on his back.

His eyes are still wide and his hands clutch at her form desperately, pulling her closer and taking deep breaths as his eyes sting. In that moment, she is his anchor and keeps him from floating away into the dark, _dark_ sea that is his death-plagued mind. Her fingers gently sift into his hair, entangling themselves in his wild strands in an attempt to calm him down.

He sighs, for it works, causes his racing heart to slow, his clammy hands to regain feeling.

They stay like that for a while, and he takes comfort in the warmth of her body, the relaxing effect of her presence.

"Ready?" She speaks quietly, gently coaxing the words out of him.

(Lord knows it isn't the first time this has happened.)

"It was..." he takes a deep, shuddering breath. "It was you, this time."

He can feel her tense up, every muscle in her body freezing as his words make it through to her. His grip on her tightens, and he has to repeatedly reassure himself that she's _here, breathing, living_. Yet his demons resurface, clawing at his throat and choking his windpipe and _bloodredbloodbloodredmiyukino_–

"Breathe with me, Hajime," her voice shakes, giving away just how worried she really is for him. That fact touches him, somewhere deep in his soul, and he holds onto that feeling for dear _life_, concentrating on the sound of her voice and the soft, flowery scent of her shampoo.

"Inhale,"

He sucks in a breath through gritted teeth.

"Exhale."

The air escapes through the gap between his lips.

"Inhale,"

His lips part wider as he draws another gulp of air.

"Exhale."

His jaw muscles relax a little and his breath leaves in a big whoosh.

They repeat the actions a few more times, Miyuki holding him all the while as she murmurs soothing nothings into his ear.

"Better?" Her voice is considerably more steady–he can tell she benefited from the breathing session too–this time.

"Take your time," she eases, her hands switching from playing with his hair to rubbing his back.

"It was the case of the Seven Mysteries of Fudo High." He swallows, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to prevent the dreaded image from resurfacing. "You had been on the verge of death when I'd found you. If I had been a little later–"

Miyuki gasps, shaking her head furiously as tears well up in her eyes. "Hajime-chan..."

"I would have lost you!" He continues, his voice wavering as his body shakes. "And it would be all my fault because I brushed off your offer for me to accompany you!"

Because _really_. If he had been paying more attention, if he had just thought about her more, if–

"No, no, no," she chants, renewing the action of shaking her head. Her right hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, and she brings her teary eyes to meet his. "It's not your fault, Hajime-chan," she whispers, her other hand sneaking down to squeeze his.

"But–"

"It doesn't matter anymore." She says firmly, "I'm here, aren't I?" The corners of her lips lift up. "You saved me."

The dam breaks, and he finds himself sobbing and shaking and breaking and _mending_ all at once, yet in that raging storm she is the shelter that shields him from it all, with her bright_bright_ eyes and soft_soft_ touch. It's safe and warm and _home_, so he lets it all out: the terror, the grief, the _pain_ that had stabbed at his chest at the thought of losing her forever.

"You're still here." He rasps a reminder to himself, his eyes red and raw.

"–and I'm not going anywhere." She finishes, a grin breaking out onto her face.

He can't help but smile back, pressing his lips to hers in a swift movement as their fingers interlace, tightly compressed against each other. Her palm leaves his cheek, opting to instead run over his dark brown tresses. Emotion blooms in his chest, coursing through his veins and causing his heart to palpitate for entirely different–yet good–reasons.

The tingling sensation on his lips doesn't fade when they break apart–it causes the edges of his lips to turn up as he gently places his forehead against hers. He sees constellations woven into those chocolate brown eyes of hers, sparkling and filled with unadulterated adoration.

It occurs to him how naïve he had been, back then, when they'd been young, wild teenagers, to think that any of those other women could ever hold a candle to this... this _angel_ in front of him.

"Thank you," he closes his eyes once more and is so, _so_ glad when all he can see is her smile.

"I'm sorry about your shirt, though," he glances down at the shoulder he'd just spent the last half an hour or so–felt like hours, honestly–drying his tears on.

Miyuki laughs, and the chuckles escaping her lips are so contagious that he is unable to resist joining in.

"I love you," he grins as he says the words, his gratitude for her exploding in his chest.

"I love you too." She has no qualms about repeating the phrase, giving their locked hands a squeeze.

The expression on her face is so adorable that he dives back in to steal another kiss from her, reveling in the squeals that rise from her throat and the giggles that flow from her mouth.

Those stop, though, when his hands wander a little too low–a resounding smack and high-pitched "Hajime-chan!" later, they are both tucked snugly under the covers, Miyuki resolutely facing away from him.

("But– _Miyuki_,"

"_No_, Hajime.")

* * *

_nepenthe_

(n.) something that makes you forget grief or suffering

* * *

i really regret how small this fandom is.


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